


Q & A

by omphale23



Category: due South
Genre: Challenge fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-14
Updated: 2010-03-14
Packaged: 2017-10-07 23:54:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omphale23/pseuds/omphale23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If God existed, and was in any way inclined to help Ray out, then maybe he hadn't grabbed for any body parts that were Off Limits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Q & A

Written for the [**onebedficathon**](http://community.livejournal.com/onebedficathon/profile) challenge.

***

Ray was tired, more tired than he'd been in what felt like forever. But he had good reasons to be running on fumes, reasons related to his job and his life and his completely unhinged partner. The usual reasons, only multiplied by about a hundred.

He hadn't gotten a decent night's sleep since the thing with the punching, so let's see, that would be one night driving, one night escaping a sinking ship, and one night booking bad guys and dictating statements. Subtract the catnap up against Fraser's back in the sub, add the day before they left, and he'd been up for 73 hours. That was a lot.

Fraser hadn't even gotten a nap.

So it didn't matter what Thatcher thought, he was getting some rest before they drove back to Chicago. And no, Fraser was not going to ride back with her and Turnbull.

Just, no. Not for any reason. He didn't care if the Queen was stopping by on the way to a Bulls game and wanted to take them all out for beer and nachos, they were not moving until they both got some shuteye. He needed to sleep until the sun stopped looking like a blinding orb of fiery death and turned back into ordinary daylight.

Fraser was staying right where he was, and somebody else could pick up the damn dry cleaning.

Welsh saw reason, or maybe saw that Ray was fifteen seconds from clawing out his own eyeballs, and had one of the locals find a motel for them on the American side. The only one with rooms open turned out to be a weird little place with pink shutters and one of those cement geese out front. Ray thought it might have been dressed as a pirate, but maybe he was hallucinating. Geese didn't come with clothes, did they?

Whatever. All he needed was a bed. And maybe the bag of emergency clothes from the trunk, because he really wanted out of whoever's pants these were. A shower, if he could make it that far without crashing, which he doubted. He couldn't even see straight at this point, so he'd just have to put up with smelling like trout for a few more hours.

Five minutes after they pulled up, he had a room key and Fraser was walking in a sort of daze behind him. The guy must have been really out of it, because he didn't even argue about taking off before the paperwork was finished.

Ray was feeling pretty good about his chances of passing out for a few hours when he opened the door to Room 16 and found…well, that he needed to be more specific about what he needed. Because clearly one bed wasn't going to cut it, not when that bed was some sort of midget double and covered in purple ruffles. Lots of ruffles. Very purple. And one of those canopy things, with the satin and lace and crap. What the hell kind of hotel got its decorating scheme from ten-year-old girls?

This week just kept getting better.

He finally had an excuse to sleep with Fraser, in the strictly normal and not at all queer way that partners did, a situation which he vastly preferred to the whole violence and mayhem thing they'd been perfecting recently, and they had the ugliest room in the universe. And the world's smallest and shiniest hotel bed.

Plus he was too tired to take advantage of circumstances. Not that he would, because Fraser had said nothing changed and he never said things he didn't mean. Well, almost never.

So when Fraser turned bright red and started talking about bedrolls and camping out and Ray's personal space, Ray muttered, "Shut up and get in. You can be self-sacrificing when we wake up." He turned his back, stripped down to his shorts and crawled under the covers. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, ruffles be damned.

***

He had no idea what time it was when he woke up. It was dark, so pretty late, but it didn't matter because he was finally warm again after the sinking and swimming and almost-drowning parts of the last two days. Warm was good, warm was great, warm was…a really terrible idea, because he was wrapped around Fraser like a chick and, from the waves of nervousness coming off the guy, Fraser was awake and knew it.

That answered the question Ray hadn't asked, the one about whether Fraser was interested in doing more than the strictly non-queer kind of sleeping together. Ray could read body language, and Fraser's was saying, "Ray, I don't mean to be rude, but could you please remove your hands from my person? I'd like to run screaming into the night. Thank you kindly."

Ray prayed he hadn't been talking in his sleep.

He prayed he hadn't said anything during the nice dream at the end, the one where they spent hours in bed and Fraser turned out to be really, really good with his hands. The one with the begging and the moaning and the screaming. The one that eventually woke him up and started this whole mess.

If God existed, and was in any way inclined to help Ray out, then maybe he hadn't grabbed for any body parts that were Off Limits. Given recent events, it seemed like a bad idea to count on that possibility.

So he pulled away, careful not to violate any more of Fraser than he already had, and started muttering about the shower and dinner while he avoided looking Fraser in the eye. He was sitting up and reaching for his pants when an arm snaked around his waist and pulled him back down.

That was unexpected.

Ray didn't quite manage to get out, "What the hell?" before he found himself flat on his back getting kissed by a very determined Fraser, one who had apparently ambushed his usual politeness, tied it up, and shoved it out a window. Which was just fine with Ray. He was all over this new and improved version, the one whispering, "nothing changed," and "I want this," and "I always did," and, best of all, "tell me what you want."

Because that was a question he could answer.


End file.
